Sing Again
by Zimmergirl
Summary: After losing her father, Christine auditions for a position in a local opera house. A retelling of the classic story in a modern-day situation. Who will Christine choose this time?


Hullo! I feel like I've read every piece of fanfiction out there, and I really enjoy modern day tellings. I thought I'd give it a shot... so here you go. I have every intention of finishing this piece; believe me, I know what it's like to be left hanging for weeks on end.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own _The Phantom of the Opera_ or any of its incarnations. I'm certainly not making any money writing this, and if you try to sue me, I won't have any money for chocolate. And that's not nice.

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**Sing Again**

A "What if it happened today?" Story

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**Chapter One:**

Christine

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Papa had wanted me to be free. For him, freedom meant music. Even when he was forced to accept charity, like the free daycare at our church, he felt liberated with his violin. My earliest memories were of sitting beside him on a stack of old newspapers, watching him tune his instrument. His day job was in a local steel factory. Though exhausted, he played on street corners for extra money after work. When the passersby would stride by him, sneering at his open violin, case, he would continue his song, looking away. Sometimes I heard people whispering. "_Is that your child? Poor thing_," they would croon, dropping a couple bills into Papa's case. I listened to their shopping bags crinkling as they hurried away.

Afterward, he would smile, tight-lipped, folding up the money with his permanently black-smeared hands. When we finally went home, he would cook me dinner, using our dilapidated, rusty stove. When oven door finally broke off, his breath hissed between his teeth. That was when he first told me of the Angel of Music.

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"Hurry up, Christine!" Meg called, jogging down the semi-dark hallway to our audition room. "If we're late, they'll just go to the next person. They won't even listen to us!"

"I know, I know," I whispered.

I felt nauseated. I hadn't eaten anything, having predicted my stomach to behave this way. The queasy feeling had started the moment Meg's rusty car had clattered into the parking lot of the Garneton Opera. When the engine sputtered off, it felt as though my frantically beating heart were trying to fill the silence. What would father have said?

That morning, making myself tea, (I couldn't bear the smell of coffee after my first week of work at a college coffee shop), I had remembered how he would dip his decaffeinated tea bag, in and out, commenting on _my _twirling beside him. _"Have you finished your homework?"_ He would ask after an encore of twirling and my elaborate curtsey. My devious grin would reveal to him that I hadn't, and he would sit with me for the next hour, coaching me through sums and division. _"What is four times two?"_ he would ask, his blue eyes smiling into mine. _"An octave,"_ I would say, causing the lines of his eyes to turn up in a smile…

I felt my eyes watering, and I fumbled for a tissue in my canvas purse. I paused, my gaze turning up in time to see Meg turn a corner, farther ahead than I had realized. Her blonde hair fluttered as she returned to wait for me. I sighed in relief.

"Don't cry, Christine. You're more than talented enough for the chorus," she said, running her fingers through her hair. That was the first sign of her own uneasiness. In a few minutes, I knew that she would be clutching my arm, begging me to walk with her onto the stage.

Just around the corner was the warm up room. I held open the door for Meg, glancing at the taped-up printout of scheduled times. 'Christine Daae – 11:05' followed 'Meg Giry – 11:20.' I've got fifteen minutes to make or break my career, I thought to myself. Before the door clicked shut, it seemed like a voice came from the darkened hallway.

"Christine.. Christine..."

If the walk had taken forever, waiting in line was even longer. I had been up till midnight, rehearsing my audition piece. It was still weak, but there was nothing more I could do. Outside of my vocal classes, I knew no one to help me practice, and certainly no one to call past midnight. Meg's mother, a dance professor at the college, had been sympathetic the first time I had called for Meg at an ungodly hour. I knew better than to push my luck with a second call, especially when Meg's future was at stake as well the next day.

Finding the money for the private arts college had been difficult; I had to work on double shifts at a small coffee shop to pay for what my freshman scholarship wouldn't cover. The grief from my father's passing only heightened my difficulties; with him, I had laughed over the pettiness of customers. Now each shift became a sort of torture, his face appearing in my mind as I tried to remember which cup to use for grande white mochas.

It was my first official audition outside of the college entrance testing. The Garneton Opera House was in close connection to arts school, so most of the people in the lobby were my classmates. They seemed to be in the same state of anxiety that I was, judging by the stilted laughs. Some of them were warming up, puffing their vocal feathers for the other girls to hear. I cringed as one struck an appallingly high note as a shriek. Surprisingly, everyone fell silent. I had expected an outpouring of giggles.

"That's _La_ Carlotta, a third year student," Meg murmured, rolling her eyes. "The directors love her – because she's so free with her _muzeek_." It didn't take long for me to grasp Meg's double meaning. If Carlotta were giving away sexual favors to the theatre owners, how could we ever manage to get it?

Meg must have seen my astonishment, because she quickly continued, "Don't worry, mama sent in a good word for both of us. She has connections here. Besides, we're just here for the chorus, and Carlotta is trying out for the lead soprano position."

Even with the meager training I had through high school, I knew I could sing better than her. With that happy thought in my mind, I closed my eyes. My mind stilled, and I began to remember.

"_When I am in heaven, child, I will send to you the Angel of Music_…_"_

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Please, please, please review. It's the only way I can improve.


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